These Things You See
by Foreverafangirl13
Summary: Sort of a Simon Says(2.5) AU, Sam has a vision of Dean dying directly after they leave Guthrie. And the most important thing? Andy killed him.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any of the characters (no matter how much I wish I did).

This is my very first fanfic, and I'm really excited to share with you guys! Reviews and stuff would mean the world to me!

It started with a headache. But then again, that wasn't exactly unusual for Sam Winchester these days, so he didn't really pay much attention to it. He just rested his head against the cool glass window of the Impala, and waited for it to go away.

Sam risked a glance over at Dean. After the incident with Andy and his psychotic twin, Dean had shoved Sam in the Impala and drove out of Guthrie as fast as he could. Even now Dean was gripping the steering wheel so tight that his knuckles were turning white, and he wasn't even singing along to the Metallica blasting through the car. Which also wasn't helping Sam's headache.

"Are you alright, dude?" Sam asked, watching with worry as Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel even more. "You look like your trying to strangle the steering wheel."

"I'm fine," Dean said gruffly, keeping his eyes firmly planted on the road, but slightly relaxing his grip. "Just tired, that's all."

"Yeah," Sam said, "And I'm the Easter Bunny. Now what's bothering you?"

Dean shot him a glare, but Sam held his ground. Dean gave a long suffering sigh, once again annoyed at his stubborn little brother. "I just don't know, Sammy. This whole visions thing, making people do what you want, manipulating their mind? Doesn't that freak you out a little bit?"

Sam bit back a laugh of disbelief. "Freak me out, Dean? Freak **me** out? I'm the one whose having the visions!" The moment the word visions left his mouth, his headache doubled. He clutched his head, trying to ignore the sharp pain shooting through his temples.

Dean shot him a concerned look. "You alright there, Sammy?"

Sam gritted his teeth. If Dean was scared about the visions, then Sam certainly wasn't going to add on to his burden. Dean was already going through enough with their Dad's death, even though he wasn't going to admit it, and Sam didn't want to give him another reason to worry. "I'm fine, Dean. Just a little tired, that's all."

Dean made a face, but then froze when he really looked at Sam. "You're lookin a little pale there, you're sure you're alright?" Dean said, reaching over to feel Sam's forehead.

Sam swatted his hand away. "I'm fine, Dean. Since when did you turn into a mother hen?"

That did it. Dean frowned, pulling away. "Alright then. You hungry?" He asked, pointing up ahead as the sign for a diner came into view. "Because I'm starved."

The throbbing behind Sam's temples continued, but he plastered a smile on his face. It now felt like the temperature in the Impala had dropped 10 degrees, and Sam was starting to shiver. This was definitly a vision coming on, but Dean couldn't know that. "Uh, sure."

Dean pulled the Impala into the parking lot, right in-between a monstrous black pickup truck and rusty and beaten up Honda. "Whoa, ain't I glad you don't look like that, baby!" He slapped the dash lovingly. "Come on, Sammy, it's time to eat!"

Dean hopped out without further ado and took off towards the diner. Sam opened his door to follow, but a wave of vertigo smashed into him and the ground began to spin. The headache felt like someone was throwing boulders at his brain, and he could feel his stomach twist.

There was a sharp pain behind his eyeballs, and suddenly he wasn't there anymore. Sam knew subconciously that he was really standing outside a dump for a diner with Dean in the middle of Oklahoma, but all he could see was some old house in the middle of night in the woods and all he could feel was the pain in his head.

The house was really just a bunch of planks held together, and the door creaked as someone walked through, dragging a body behind them. The person's face was unrecognizable under the blood and bruises covering it, but Sam felt his stomach drop when he saw the person's familiar leather jacket.

The body was. . . Dean. No, no, no, no, no. This couldn't be happening, this couldn't be happening. None of his visions were ever wrong, and that meant that Dean was going to die!

Sam cried out in pain as the vision flickered. He could feel the cool metal of the Impala against his back as he sagged against it, grunting as the vision came back full swing. The mystery man was now dragging Dean down the steps of the house, panting with effort. The man stopped at the bottom, hands on his knees, bent over. The man lifted his head, and his face was bathed with moonlight as he tried to catch his breath.

Sam's heart stopped dead in his chest. The man was Andy. Andy, who they had left back in Guthrie. Andy, another psychic, a psychic who was going to kill his brother. Dean, who was the only thing Sam had left. Dean, who Sam loved more than anything.

The vision stopped as suddenly as it had come on, and Sam sagged with relief against the car. But the pain in his head didn't stop like it normal did after the vision was over. Instead, the pressure increased until it was almost unbearable.

Dean was almost inside the diner, and Sam couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief at the sight of him strolling along, hands stuffed inside the pockets of his jacket. The jacket that would soon be covered in blood, Sam reminded himself, if he didn't do anything to stop it. And he had to. He had to save Dean.

Sam took a few wobbling steps, the ground tilting underneath him. His head felt like it was on fire. Dean, who was only just realizing that he was alone, stopped walking and turned around, confusion written across every feature.

Confusion that quickly turned to panic when he noticed Sam's face. "Sam?" He shouted, but to Sam it sounded far away and distant. Sam's head felt like it was packed with cotton balls and hit by a hammer.

He swayed in place, pain increasing as he was once again thrust back into vision land and all he could see was Dean's body, still and unmoving, Dean's dead body, and the pain in his head was so bad and all he could see was Dean's body, and suddenly he was screaming.

"Dean!" He cried, and then Dean's face, full of worry and concern was hovering over him, and he allowed himself to be relieved. Then the pain in his head got worse and then his entire body was on fire. Sam could feel himself falling, and the last thing he remembered was strong arms circling him before the darkness overtook him.

A/N: Like I said, this is my first fanfic, so reviews would be awesome!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural or any of it's wonderful characters.

 **Special thanks to waitingforAslan for being the first review! This chapter is dedicated to you! Also some language in this chapter.**

 **Chapter 2**

Dean really just wanted pie. Was that so much to ask for? Like he just wanted to take a step back from the supernatural, all the psychic vision crap, and eat his feelings in a nice, delicious slice of apple pie. Was that so bad?

Apparently, because he hadn't even made it into the diner before everything went wrong. Sam had been acting strange since the whole thing with Andy, and Dean was worried about him. Well, Dean was always worried about him, but that kind of came with the big brother job description, right?

Dean couldn't help but laugh. If only the big brother job description manual taught him how to deal with little brothers who got freaky death visions. This vision, though, was different than the other ones. Sam normally got a bad headache. Sam normally didn't pass out.

It had happened in an instant. Sam had been looking a little pale in the Impala, but had seemed OK overall and had insisted he was fine. That should have been the first thing that sent warning bells off in Dean's head. The damn kid never let anyone take care of him, and would first run himself into the ground before admitting he was sick or hurt.

Dean had been walking towards the rundown diner, his mind set on a slice of pie to eat his worries about Sammy away. That was until he turned around to crack a joke about the state of the place and realized that Sammy wasn't next to him.

He whirled around, frantic and worried, until he caught sight of Sam still by the Impala. Dean allowed himself to relax for a fraction of a second, before he realized that Sam was in pain. The kid's face was screwed up in pain, he was clutching his head like his friggin' brains were gonna fall out, and he was shaking and shivering uncontrollably. Sam, Dean realized, was in the middle of a vision.

"SAM!" Dean yelled, and broke into a sprint. His feet flew over the broken and uneven pavement, and in instant he was by his little brother's side.

Sam's eyes were closed, and he was leaning against the Impala to support his weight. Like the vision was so painful that he couldn't even hold himself up. Sam was hunched over, his breath coming in ragged, panting gasps.

"Sam," Dean said. He was surprised his voice wasn't shaking, that was how scared he was. "Sam, you OK?"

A soft little moan escaped Sam's lips, and Dean felt his heart break. His baby brother was hurting, and Dean couldn't do a damn thing to stop. Dean was powerless. And Dean _hated_ feeling powerless, especially when it came to Sammy.

He had protected the kid all his life, hell, he had raised him, and now Dean was in danger of losing him to something he knew nothing about. And Dean wouldn't admit it, wouldn't ever have the chick-flick moment, but he would do anything for Sam. Anything.

Dean reached out and hesitantly touched Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't move, didn't say anything. Whatever he was seeing, he was so deep inside his own head that he didn't even know Dean was there.

Dean felt Sam go rigid beneath his hand. And then Sam started screaming. "Dean?" He yelled. "Dean?" His voice was frantic and full of pain. "DEAN!" Sam bellowed. His hazel eyes were open, wide but unseeing, looking for something that wasn't there.

Sam's entire body was shaking under Dean's hand. He gave one last scream, this time not Dean's name but one of pure pain that made Dean want to kill that yellow-eyed bastard a thousand times for doing this to his brother, and then his eyes rolled back in his head and his body went limp.

Dean lunged forward, catching him around the waist before he could crack his head against the pavement. Sam was dead weight in his hands, all 6'4 of him. Dean gently lowered him to the ground and turned him over, making a mental note to himself to ask Sam when the _hell_ he had gotten so tall.

But all that took a seat on the back burner when he saw Sam. The kid was out cold, and was so pale that he looked like a ghost they would hunt, not a living, breathing, person. Sam's breath was uneven, and that worried Dean more than anything else. He had to get Sam to a motel, and fast.

Dean lifted Sam under the armpits and hoisted him up, dragging him next to the car. With one hand he managed to maneuver the backseat door open, and he lifted Sam and laid him across the seats. By the time he had finished getting Sam into a semi-comfortable position, Dean was panting and sweating slightly. The damn kid was heavy.

But not, Dean noticed, as heavy as he should have been for his ginormous height. Dean scowled to himself. He had to get on Sam about his eating habits, or in other words, lack of eating.

"You stupid bitch," Dean muttered to his brother's unconscious form. He held his breath, like Sam might pop-up at the nickname and call him a jerk, just like he always did. Dean wasn't surprised though, when there was no response.

"You just stay here, Sammy," Dean said to Sam's limp form. "Imma be right back, I'm just gonna go find out where the nearest motel is, and then we're gonna go there and figure this whole thing out, OK?"

He stood up and closed the door, then stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed into "Randy's Diner".

One of the waitresses eyed him up skeptically as he came in. She was about 40, with frizzy red hair, a snaggle tooth and wrinkles. Dean winced on the inside, but turned on his famous Winchester Smile. The smile that got him basically anything(including all the chicks).

"Excuse me, ma'am," he said in his most innocent voice. "Could you tell me where the nearest motel is?"

The waitress glared at him. Her name tag read Ursula, and Dean couldn't help but grin to himself. _An ugly name for an ugly lady._ "You can't come in unless you buy something," she replied in a nasally voice.

"Please," Dean said. "Just tell me where a motel is." His little brother was passed out in the back of his car, and this lady was worried about him buying something? Of all his luck, he ended up talking to her. He glanced around the shabby diner, looking for a different waitress. There wasn't one.

"Buy something," she snapped. "And then I'll tell you. It's house policy."

"Whose house?" Dean retorted, anger rising.

"Mine," she said with a smug smile. "I own the place, so you either buy something or you get the hell out of my diner." She crossed her arms, as if that settled the matter.

It didn't.

"I don't have time for this," Dean muttered, shoving past her. He spied an old man sitting alone at a booth and made a beeline towards him, ignoring the old hag's shrieks of protest behind him.

The old man glanced up at him, and Dean flashed him a charming smile. "Excuse me sir, I'm so sorry to bother you, but would you be able to tell me where the nearest motel is? It's kind of an emergency."

The old man's face softened instantly. "Of course son, just go three miles up the road, ya' can't miss it."

Dean couldn't believe his luck. Only three miles? He could get Sam there in under a minute. "Thank you, sir," he said, a real smile overtaking his face. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

He fished around in his jacket, pulling out a 10 and slapping it down on the table in front of him. The old man began to protest, but the door was already swinging shut as Dean made his escape.

Dean slid into the driver's seat, turning the keys and gunning the engine. The Impala rumbled as Dean maneuvered her out of the parking lot and onto the road. He glanced back quickly, just to make sure Sam hadn't woken up.

He hadn't, but that wasn't what worried Dean. What worried him was the fact that Sam was still pale, still shaking, and when Dean reached a hand back to feel him while still managing to keep one on the wheel, ice cold to the touch.

"Don't you worry Sammy," Dean whispered as he put the petal to the metal and watched the speedometer needle steadily climb. "I've got you."

A groan of pain from the backseat was the only response, and Dean couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief as the neon sign for "Maple Tree Motel" came into view. He quickly pulled the car around and hopped out, striding purposely towards the front desk like a man on a mission.

Which, he supposed, he was. On a mission to save his brother.

The girl behind the desk looked up as he walked in, her face lighting up into a smile as she looked him up and down. She was blonde and pretty and on any other day Dean would have been totally interested, but today wasn't exactly like any other day.

"What can I help you with?" She asked, her voice lilting and flirty.

"Can I have a room with two queens?" He asked roughly, digging around in his pocket for some money.

The blondes face dropped a little at his brisk tone. It was clear that he was all business. "Sure," She said, scowling. "Room 7 is open." She held out the keys, and Dean all but snatched them from her hand.

Room 7 came into view, and Dean felt his heart speed up. Now all he had to do get Sam out of the backseat and actually into the room. Piece of cake, right?

Wrong. Sam was still dead to the world, and Dean hoisted him out of the car and took Sam's arm over his shoulder. A man who was just leaving Room 8 saw the unconscious form and backed away slowly, looking like he was about to call the cops. And cops were the _last_ thing that they needed.

Dean raised a hand in greeting and pasted a smile on his face. "Just my brother. He's a pass out drunk, and I'm just gonna take him inside to sleep it off." Sam's head lolled against his shoulder.

The man still looked skeptical, but no longer like he was going to call the police on them, so Dean assumed that that was an improvement.

Once Dean had the door open, and Sam inside the room, he quickly laid Sam on the bed closest to the door. After making sure that Sam was settled, Dean locked the door, set the salt lines, and closed the curtains.

The motel was utter crap, Dean thought to himself, but still not as sad as some of the ones he'd been to. The cheap wallpaper was peeling, there was a leak, more than one hole in the walls, and the place stank of tobacco and drink. But it had a bed, and that was all Sam really needed at the moment.

Dean grabbed a chair from the small kitchen space and dragged it over next to Sam's bed. He sat down, and he waited for his little brother to wake up.

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Sam was trapped on an island. It was just big enough for him to stand on, and the sea moaned and crashed around him. The wind whipped through his hair and the salty spray stung his eyes. The sky was a strange color, a mix between gray and purple and red, and lightning crackled through it.

Sam turned around frantically. There was only the sea, for miles, and all he could see were the giant storm waves.

Something bobbed against his tiny little island. It floated, water making it's clothes heavy, and Sam wanted to cry because it was _Dean_ 's body, Dean's dead body in Sam's own little ocean from hell.

Sam reached out, but Dean floated just out of his reach. "Dean!" He yelled. "Dean!"

The thunder boomed in time with his headache, and Sam realized that he was, for once in his life, really and truly alone. Because Dean's body had been swallowed by the ocean. The pain in his head doubled, and Sam felt his knees hit the sand as his hands came up to clutch his head.

He screamed and screamed and screamed, for Dean and for Jess and for all who he had lost, for the dead brother who would never again smile at him and say, "Bitch."

Sam Winchester was trapped on an island, and he watched as a great wave rose up out of the ocean. The pain in his head felt like his skull was splitting in half, and then the wave was on top of him, pulling him under.

Sam Winchester screamed, and then the darkness returned to claim him as its own.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Sorry, I was on vacation for the past week and not able to update! Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy the chapter! Please leave reviews and comments, because this is my first try at fanfiction!**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own Supernatural or any of its wonderful, badass characters.**

 **Some cursing.**

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 **Chapter 3**

Dean was almost asleep when it started. He had pulled up one of the hard chairs from the table and had promptly plopped it down by Sam's bedside to wait for the kid to wake up.

Sam had been motionless and pale, looking like he was dead. More than once Dean found his hands straying towards Sam's neck to check his pulse.

It was nearly past midnight. Dean was nodding off in his chair, despite the chanting in his brain going _Stay awake! Gotta be there for Sammy! Gotta stay awake!_

He felt his head drooping, his eyelids growing heavy, just about to slip off to sleep when . . .

Sam moaned from the bed. Dean felt the excitement coursing through him. That was the first sound that Sam had made ever since his face-plant in the parking lot.

"Sam?" Dean was by his side in an instant. "You waking up there, buddy?"

Sam's eyes were still shut, but Dean could see his eyeballs rolling around in his head madly beneath them. _Gross._ Sam moaned again, and Dean reached out for Sam's wrist to check his pulse.

Because Sam didn't look any better than he did before. If anything, Sam looked _worse_. And that was what worried Dean the most.

Dean had just got his fingers around Sam's wrist, looking for a pulse, when Sam wrenched his arm away from him.

Dean looked down, and the _took you long enough there, get enough beauty sleep?_ died on his lips. Because Sam still wasn't conscious.

In fact, Sam was starting to shake slightly, his entire body rigid on the bed. Sweat dripped down his forehead, plastering his bangs to his face. One moment Sam was still, and the next, before Dean could even register what was happening, he was a whirlwind.

His arms and legs flailed, jerking and twisting, and his head smashed against the headboard. Sam was shaking, faster and faster and faster, his 6'4 frame too big for the bed. He was having a seizure.

"Shit!" Dean swore. "Shit shit shit shit shit. Oh my god." Dean may have had medical training, but nothing had ever taught him how to deal with a seizure. He distinctly remembered something about a recovery position, but all his training was flying out of his head at the sight of his little brother.

His little brother was having a seizure, and Dean knew nothing on how to help him. As far as Dean knew, none of Sam's visions had ever affected him like this. And whatever Sam had seen, for him to react this badly to it, Dean knew it would have to be huge.

A sharp sound brought Dean back to realty, and he snapped out of his train of thought just to Sam's head smash against the wooden headboard with a vicious _crack!_

Dean watched helplessly as Sam's thrashing limbs started to slow down, his arms still giving an odd jerk here or there. His breathing was still incredibly heavy, and blood trickled at the corners of his mouth where he must have bitten his tongue.

Dean glanced at the clock. The seizure couldn't have lasted more than a minute, but to the helpless big brother, it had felt like a lifetime.

Dean couldn't call an ambulance, as much as every instinct in his body was screaming at him to pick up the hotel phone and call 911. A hospital couldn't fix a supernatural illness, and no matter how much Dean wanted to get Sam checked out, he knew that the doctors would find nothing.

So instead, he reached into his jacket pocket for his cell phone and dialed the person he trusted most in the world. Besides Sam, of course.

"Dean," Bobby's gruff but warm voice greeted him over the line. "What's up with you boys? Been a while since I heard from ya'."

"Bobby," Dean said, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice.

Bobby heard it anyways. "What's wrong?" He asked, voice filled with worry. "Are ya' hurt?"

Dean ran a hand through his hair. "I'm fine." He risked a glance at the motionless figure on the bed and felt his stomach squeeze. "Sam, though . . ."

"What's wrong with your brother, Dean?" Bobby's voice was frantic now. "Dean? Ya' gotta give me something to work with boy, I can't help ya' if I don't know what's going on."

"He had a vision, Bobby," Dean said quietly through the phone.

That seemed to bring Bobby up short. "So? He has those all the time."

"Not like this, Bobby," Dean whispered. "He passed out screaming. And he just had a seizure. That's never happened before."

"How long did the seizure last?" Bobby asked. Dean could hear fingers flying across keys in the background.

"Um, about two minutes," Dean replied. He sighed wearily. When had his life become such a mess? "Bobby, I don't know what to do."

"It's alright, Dean," Bobby reassured him. "The seizure shouldn't be serious if it only lasted two minutes. It happens again and it goes on for ten minutes, you call an ambulance, you understand me boy? You put him in the recovery position yet?"

"No." Dean looked down at his little brother. Now that the seizing had stopped, Sam looked almost peaceful, lying on his back like he was sleeping.

"Roll him on his side," Bobby instructed.

Dean put the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then rolled Sam onto his side, grunting with the effort. "Done," he said into the phone. He dropped back into his chair, by the side of the bed.

"How are you doing, Dean?" Bobby asked. "With all of this?"

"Not that good." A small laugh ripped itself from Dean's throat. Even to his own ears, it sounded empty and hollow. "I can't protect him Bobby. Not from this. I don't know how." Hysteria rose inside him, because the very first and most important order he ever had was _Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back! Now, Dean, go!_ And he had never stopped protecting Sammy since.

There was a pause at the end of the line. "You don't have to protect him, Dean." Bobby's voice was gentle. "You can have his back, sure, you can help him, but you don't have to protect him. He's a lot stronger than you think."

Dean nodded mutely into the phone, then realized that Bobby couldn't see him. "Yeah, OK." A small smile came to Dean's face because despite everything, Bobby knew how to make it better.

"You be careful Dean," Bobby said, "And you call me once you boys figure this out."

"Alright Bobby, thanks," Dean said as he hung up the phone.

He paced around the small motel room. That Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch was hurting his brother and when Dean found him, he was gonna kill him.

Nice and slow. Because nobody, and Dean meant _nobody,_ messed with Sammy. Not while he was around.

He was just on his fifth lap when he heard a noise from Sam's bed. To say Dean moved fast would have been an understatement.

 _Is he having another seizure?_ Dean thought. _I am going to kill that Yellow-Eyed bastard._

Sam groaned again, and Dean's heart leapt into his throat. "Sammy?" He asked cautiously. "You with me here, buddy?" He reached out and touched Sam's arm.

Slowly, slowly, like underwater, Sam's eyelids opened and groggy hazel eyes met his. "Dean?" He croaked. "Dean? Is that you?"

Dean sighed in relief. Sam was OK. Now Dean just had to have a talk with him about scaring the crap out of his big brother. "Yeah, kiddo, it's me. How ya' feelin'?"

Sam ignored the question, looking around the motel room in confusion. "Where . . ." He trailed off. "I don't remember." He squinted his eyes shut like he was in pain.

"I had to get you into a motel after you pulled that little Sleeping Beauty act of yours," Dean said lightly, trying to hide the worry he felt inside.

"Sleeping Beauty?" Sam questioned, still looking thoroughly out of it.

"You passed out," Dean confessed. "And scared the crap out of me. Must've been one hell of a vision."

At the word vision Sam blanched. "Are we still in Oklahoma?" He sounded worried.

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused. "Uh, yeah?"

Sam struggled into a sitting position, much faster than Dean would have liked. "We have to go." He sounded desperate, and scared, and he was fixing Dean with a look like he might disappear any second. "We have to go right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Dean growled, annoyed. "We can't leave, you just woke up."

"Don't worry about me," Sam said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. "We have to get you out of here." He went pale at the movement, biting his lips, then pushed all the way off the bed and onto his feet.

"Sit your ass down right now or so God help me," Dean snarled as he put an arm across Sam's chest and pushed him back onto the bed. "You just had a freakin' seizure and we're not going anywhere."

"Seizure?" Sam sounded even more confused than before, and Dean resisted a sigh. They were going in circles here.

"Yeah, you did the floppy fish for about two minutes then passed out again. So, I'll say it again; we're not going anywhere."

Sam looked up at him with those puppy dog eyes, and Dean felt his resistance melt a little bit. "Dean, you don't understand." Sam met his gaze, and Dean was floored by the amount of pain in his green eyes.

He settled himself directly in front of Sam, one arm on either side to block his escape if tried to pull another stunt like the one he just did. "Then help me understand."

Didn't Sam get it? Dean would do anything to protect him. Sam was Dean's responsibility, always had been and always would, and Dean couldn't help but worry about him.

Especially since the kid looked like he was going to pass out again.

"Dean, I saw . . ." Sam stopped, and then turned a shade whiter. "Move," he whispered. Sam reached up and weakly pushed Dean's arms away, then got up and staggered to the bathroom.

"Sam!" Dean yelled. Sam's steps were unsteady, he couldn't walk straight, and he looked as though he were drunk.

" 'M fine," Sam gasped, pushing the bathroom door open and disappearing inside. Dean heard the sound of his knees hitting the tile a second later, and then the sound of vomiting a second after that.

Hesitantly, Dean followed and stood in the doorway. Sam was still bent over the toilet, hurling his guts up and Dean couldn't help but wince at the sound of his gagging. Nasty. And the _smell_.

"Dude, what did you eat?" Dean asked, trying to force a smile on his face.

Sam stopped vomiting long enough to flip him off. "Shut up, jerk."

"Bitch," Dean replied, but Sam's face was already back into the toilet.

Dean crossed the bathroom and knelt next to him. "Easy there, Sammy," he murmured, rubbing circles into his back. "It's ok."

Sam was too busy hurling up his guts to respond.

"What did you see?" Dean asked quietly when the dry heaving stopped what felt like an eternity later. How bad would it have had to be for Sam's body to be reacting like this?

Sam looked up, and Dean was taken aback by the wetness in his eyes. Sam was . . . crying? "I saw you," he whispered, voice ragged and harsh. He reached one hand up to wipe his eyes.

"And you were dead."

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 **TBC**

 **Please leave reviews and comments!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

All Sam could feel was the pain. And all he could hear was the laughter.

 _Soon Sammy-boy, soon._ A cold, dead laugh. _This is going to be a treat._

The voice rang in his head, in his ears, and all he could see was Dean's body. And he watched it over and over and over again. Sometimes was inside the house, watching Dean fly across the room while Andy and a girl Sam didn't recognize stood there.

And Sam screamed and screamed, but his feet were glued to the spot and he was frozen and helpless as he watched Dean die, over and over and over. Sam sobbed, because he had just lost his dad, but this was Dean. This was his Dean.

The girl had a soft face, but when she spoke to him it was in a man's voice, one that haunted his dreams and made his flesh crawl.

 _Don't you get, Sam? Don't you understand? You're different, Sammy. You're special. And I'm going to show you, Sammy-boy, I'm going to help you._

The pain was always there, always constant, and Sam wished that he was dead to make it go away. So that he could be with Dean.

And then he woke up.

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Sam wakes slowly. One second, Sam is stuck in the vision, watching his brother get thrown across the room, the next, he feels soft sheets beneath him and a pillow behind his head.

 _Where did this come from?_ He wonders.

Someplace far off, he can hear someone talking, but the words are garbled and he can't understand anything through his cotton-ball stuffed ears anyways.

His eyelids feel like there are weights on them, but somehow, he manages to wrench them open. Dean's face is swimming above him, weaving in and out of focus, and Sam feels like laughing.

 _When did Dean grow a second head?_

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Dean was standing over him, breathing and living and now Sam doesn't know if he feels like laughing or crying. Because Dean is still alive, sure, he's still alive right now, but Sam's visions are never wrong. No matter how much he's tried to stop them.

"Dean," he manages to croak out. "Dean, is that really you?" Sam's throat feels like he's been without water for weeks, and his tongue hurts. He can taste blood in his mouth, and it is raw and scraped, like he's bitten it. He doesn't remember that.

"Yeah, kiddo, it's me," Dean says. "How are ya' feelin'?"

Dean looks perfectly normal, a little freaked out for some weird reason, but 100% healthy. Now, Sam just had to keep him that way.

The motel room they're in is dirty and cheap, and it has a nasty smell. "Where. . ." Sam asked. "I don't remember." His head still hurt, and the last thing he remembers is watching Dean walk toward the greasy, horrible looking diner that Sam was going to tease him about endlessly.

Dean says something, but Sam only catches the end over the pounding in his head. "Sleeping Beauty?" He asked, still feeling slightly fuzzy.

 _It doesn't matter how you feel!_ He told himself sharply. _What matters is keeping Dean alive!_

"You passed out," Dean says. He passed out? He felt bad, he knew he probably looked bad, but that had _never_ happened before. There was something different, something wrong, besides Dean dying of course, but Sam can't quite but his finger on it. "And scared the crap outta me. Must've been one hell of a vision."

The word vision snaps Sam back to reality. "Are we still in Oklahoma?" He asked, and prayed the answer was no. Andy had something to do with this, and therefore the only logical conclusion was to get Dean as far from Andy as possible.

"Uh, yeah?" Dean was giving him a funny look now. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Sam took a deep breath, then struggled into a sitting position. The room swam before his eyes, his head pounded and his arms felt like rubber, but he managed to maneuver his body into a position where he could look Dean in the eye. "We have to go," he said with absolute certainty. "We have to go right now."

"What the hell are you talking about, Sam?" Dean sounded annoyed. "We can't leave, you just woke up." He crossed his arms over his leather jacket and put on his, _You'll listen to me because I'm older than you_ face, like that made it final. It didn't.

"Don't worry about me," Sam said. He took a deep breathe. _On the count of three,_ he told himself. _One, two, three!_ On three, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed so he was now sitting on the edge of it, feet dangling over the floor. "We have to get you out of here."

If it wasn't for Sam and his visions, Dean probably would never die, so it was only fair that Sam was in pain. He pushed off the edge of the bed, and stood up.

The room started spinning like a top. Sam felt his stomach squeeze, and the edges of vision were starting to look a little white.

Suddenly an arm was pushing him back on the bed and Dean's _very_ angry face was in front of him. Sam almost sighed in relief, and then he heard what Dean was saying.

"Seizure?" Most times, when people had seizures they had epilepsy. Sam didn't, though. So why was he now just having random seizures?

"Yeah," Dean replied, still looking thoroughly pissed off. "You did the floppy fish for about two minutes then passed out again. So, I'll say it again; we're not going anywhere." He gave an aggravated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Sam, what the hell is going on?"

"Dean, you don't understand," Sam said desperately. Why couldn't Dean just trust Sam for once? Dean expected Sam to follow him blindly, but whenever Sam needed to do something there was always a million questions. Dean threw himself into danger for Sam, but then got mad when Sam did the same for him. _Well, brother, it's a two-way street._ "We have to go."

"Make me understand." Dean planted himself directly in front of Sam. The fierce look in his eyes told Sam all he needed to know; Dean wasn't letting him go anywhere without Sam telling him.

Sam sighed in defeat. Maybe if he told Dean, Dean would agree and they could both haul ass out of Oklahoma. Maybe not, because Dean was a stubborn pain in the butt, but right now Sam had no other choice.

"Dean, I saw. . ." Sam felt his stomach heave at the thought of Dean dead. "Move," he muttered weakly, and then rocketed to his feet.

He could he hear Dean's aggravated yell behind him, but right now his only worry was making it to the bathroom before he vomited all over the carpet.

His legs felt shaky beneath him, and he was out of breath and panting by the time he reached the bathroom. " 'M fine," he reassured Dean with a weak smile, one hand on the doorframe to steady himself. And then he felt his stomach rebel, and he pushed open the bathroom door.

His knees gave out from underneath him, and his hands gripped the sides of the cool porcelain bowl as he emptied his stomachs contents into it.

"Dude, what did you eat?" He heard from the doorway, and he looked up to see Dean standing there.

Sam raised one arm weakly and gave Dean the finger. "Jerk." His stomach heaved again, and before he knew it he was back over the toilet.

He felt Dean kneel down next to him and rub circles into his back, murmuring soothing words as the vomiting continued.

Dry heaving started once the vomiting had stopped, and Sam's stomach ached with emptiness and pain.

Dean was still sitting next to him on the cold floor. "What did you see?" He asked.

Sam felt the tears slip out of his eyes. Dean was going to die because of him. He took a shaky breath. "I saw you." He whispered. Sam reached one hand up to wipe away his tears. Dean probably had already seen them, but it didn't matter.

"And you were dead."

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Out of all the things to come out of Sam's mouth, that was probably the last thing Dean had expected. He recoiled in shock, mind reeling. He had died? "What?" He asked again, just to make sure he hadn't heard wrong.

"You died," Sam whispered, looking miserable. He wiped his eyes again. "And I had to watch over and over and over and over." His voice cracked, and suddenly he was back dry heaving over the toilet.

"Sammy," Dean said, slight tremor in his voice. "How'd I die?"

"Don't you see why we had to leave?" Sam asked, ignoring his question. "I had to get you away from him."

"Away from who? From whoever killed me?" Dean said. So that meant that Dean wasn't killed on the job, that he was murdered. And that whoever may have murdered him, it sounded like Sam already knew who it was.

Just _great_.

"Sam." Dean's voice was a little harsher now, less asking and more ordering. "Who killed me? What happened? Tell me everything from the beginning."

"Dean!" Sam protested. "Can't we just go? If we don't go anywhere near him, we should be fine!"

"Near who, Sam? Who killed me?" Dean yelled.

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but suddenly AC/DC's Highway to Hell was blasting through the motel. Dean paused. Should he answer his phone, or make Sam tell him?

 _The phone call could be important_ , some small part of him reasoned. _More important than your death?_ another part asked.

"Don't move," he said sharply to Sam, who was still kneeling in front of the toilet and clutching it like his life depended on it, and then went to go answer the phone.

 _Where had he put the thing?_ There it was, on the table he'd dropped when Sam had started to wake up.

He picked up the cheap plastic mobile in his hands, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Dean flipped it open, holding it close to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dean." Andy's voice was panicked and absolutely terrified, and Dean felt his stomach drop. "Where's Sam?"

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 **A/N: Yay, it's an update! I don't own them, never will, but hey, a girl can dream! Reviews mean the world to me and I would love to know what you guys think, so please please please please REVIEW.**


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